Category Archives: Mr. Serrano

Moving In, Moving On

Well hello there, people! I’m back! I’ve done another of my disappearing acts, and its again due to a lot of stuff that’s been going on. I’m trying to consider whether I should end this blog, continue, or start a new one, where I won’t be anonymous, and the focus might have changed.

Not that it won’t be full of Catholic ranting. Of course, that remains a constant.

So, what’s with the long absence? Well, I’ve quit my job at the call center. It was either that, or I’d get fired for being nothing more than a temp worker. Plus, I had no ambition to become a permanent member of a business devoted to scamming the ignorant out of money, while claiming to help them.

Anyway, bitterness about that stupid low  paying job aside, other things have been going on. The wedding is no longer going to be held in Mexico. It was excruciatingly difficult to hear the lawyer let us know our options and to realize that going to Mexico would be a bad idea. Yeah, my fiance is illegal. Go bitch about it on YouTube or something because I don’t freaking care.

Because of that we’ve had to re-plan the entire wedding, and our budget, and everything. On the one hand, its great, because a certain maid of awesomeness won’t have to blow her money on a trip to Mexico, and I get some more control over decorations. On the other hand, its heart breaking. Mr. Serrano misses his mother, grandfather, and siblings so much, and he’s losing hope that he’ll ever see them again. I cried for days, feeling guilty that in an indirect manner, it is my fault he’s not with them now. He doesn’t blame me, and I don’t blame myself anymore, but its not fair that his mother can’t see her oldest son married. I’ll find a way to make it up to her- she seems to be an awesome woman from what I can see in the photographs.

However, the wedding is now bumped up to September, which has me excited!!!! In an unprecedented show of generosity my parents are allowing the party to take place on the farm, so I’m going to have a wedding that looks like it came out of Real Simple. We had had to break the news to them about Mr. Serrano’s status, and they took it well. In fact, they had assumed he was illegal anyways.

Thanks, Mom. Glad to know you really did mean all your racist comments in the past months before we said anything.

But, count your blessings, right?

For a while, it actually seemed like my family was going to act like a family. I was cautiously surprised and happy, but I’m always cautious when it comes to them. Just like I feared, the initial glow wore off, and life went back to “normal”. Then, Mr. Serrano finally got his own apartment!

The previous tenants were something else. Let’s just say I can’t stand white trash, especially anyone who buys enough cigs and booze to keep them stocked forever, but can’t be bothered to clothe, feed, and love their kids. My family has screwed up royally, but at least they weren’t alcoholics. Thank God. The trash people finally moved out, after dragging their heels for months, making excuses, and finally actually trying to squat in the apartment. They DID have another place they could stay- this one was just “better”.

We were insanely happy to get that apartment. Mr. Serrano’s stepmother is pretty much straight out of Hansel and Gretel, and probably invented frenemies. I savored the look on her face when she saw me cleaning in the kitchen window (they’re our next door neighbors…so charming). I was especially happy in a triumphant way (probably not the best moral way either) because the charming old hag had tried to pawn the apartment off onto someone else, just to make sure she could keep her stepson paying her bills and on her couch, rather than a real bed.

This was right around the time we went to visit the lawyer, and since I got us so lost down in Chicago area that he had to pay 30.00 in toll fees (not kidding) I figured I’d stay the week over at his house and clean it up while he went to work. I needed a project to keep my mind off the stress, and re-doing a house sounded like fun.

That is where the trouble started. It didn’t matter how much I told my parents I was waiting till marriage to move in with him, and it didn’t matter that the stuff I had in my room I had saved for him, which is why it was being moved out. Every day that I came home, I was asked when I was moving out. The verbal abuse got worse, and my ever-charming ever-honest brother fell back into his habit of calling me a bitch. Mom literally ignored my existance, which I guess is better than her usual screaming (although screaming did occasionally happen).

Without even intending to, without wanting to, I ended up living in Mr. Serrano’s apartment. The first few weeks I was amazed. I woke up, and no one was going to scream at me. Nobody was yelling at me, glaring at me, or calling me names. In fact, I got a peck on the cheek and a “good morning, I love you”. Its taking a while to get rid of some of my bad habits- like skipping breakfast. I can’t eat at home. If I eat at home, I’m “stealing” from whoever Mom is favoring at the moment, which means I eat out or not at all. It took me a few days to leave my bedroom with confidence- inside I still expected to be criticized for something.

I started to feel something I haven’t felt in a long time- freedom and happiness.

I can listen to Catholic Radio, pray, listen to music, cook, go take a walk, eat, drink, be happy!!

But… at the back of my mind I kept getting nudged. This was beautiful, and wonderful…but I had said nothing to my priest. In fact, I avoided the subject entirely. I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to tell the truth. Then my friends started nudging me. The universe was nudging me.

In short, God was like “okay, you’ve had your fun. Now trust me and go talk to my priest!!!”

So I did, even though its instinct now for me to not trust authority (lol, and I end up Catholic. wtf) I went and talked with him. I had this whole prepared speech in my head which of course fell apart as soon as I tried to speak (complete with crying, which I hate doing in front of men. They are wayyyyy too vulnerable to it). He thought at first it was financial.

HA! Nope, actually the money saved is a bit less, since starting an apartment is expensive.

Its humiliating. Its absolutely embarrassing to explain to someone that your mother is abusive, your father doesn’t really care, and that your brother has been trained to join in. Its worse when you have to do it to someone you consider an authority, because you’ve been trained your entire life to believe that no one in authority thinks you are worth anything, and everyone believes you’re a liar. The irony is that you believe that if anyone does believe you, they’ll think that you’re less of a person for what you lived through- that you’ll be just like the people who raised you.

I didn’t even have to explain everything like I had thought I would have to. Father did ask about my dad, and his role, and whether my dad is abused himself. (I guess, in a way, he is. Mom *does* bully him a lot.) In all honesty, the actual talk was very short, and I didn’t have to come up with a litany to explain what goes on in my house. I think, perhaps, Father knew, at least a little bit. It makes me wonder how many people have known that I’ve never told. It did “help” that I’d already moved out, but I was prepared to move back in again with my “family” if the priest said otherwise.

I can’t believe it. God must have been behind this, because when I finally could move out, I tried not to. I wanted to do what He wanted me to do, or what I thought He wanted me to do…and I still ended up moved out.

Thank God. I’m never coming back. I’m free.

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A Job And Announcement

Well, let me start off by saying that trolling Google for images is kind of risky, even if Web of Trust supposedly has your back. I lost my draft of this post…

Any-flipping-who…. I have a new job. Its awesome. Mainly because I get paid, get to wear office clothing, and it doesn’t involve being stuck in a factory with sweaty old men who try to find ways to touch my boobs. No really- true story. Temp guys can be g-r-o-s-s…

Since my hours are weird, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. However, I am getting paid, and that makes me happeh, to borrow a phrase.

I also have something to announce! I announce that Mr. Serrano and I announced our marriage (future) to the parents (aka Los Classy). How did it go? Sit down, child of God, and I shall tell you the tale! With pictures!

Well, in the morning we go to Mass. Unfortunately its in Saint Happy Clappy’s parish, so Trinity Sunday is all about the Creator, Redeemer, Spirit, and how Trinity Sunday has NOTHING TO DO WITH THEOLOGY. At the word “Creator” used in place of Father, I suddenly lost all appetite for interpreting for my dear fiance. Normally I do some simultaneous interpretation during English Mass for Mr. Serrano- good for practice and good for the soul. This time? Not so much.

So, after the Mass, we go home, garden a bit, take showers (separately, you pervs) and go to my grandfather’s Father’s day party.

It was like this, only with a Mexican.

Ignoring racist comments from one of the uncles who leaves classy messages all over my facebook and certainly never trolls leaving behind racist comments, we have an actually sort of pleasant party and eventually head home.

Having invited my parents out to dinner at a nice restaurant, we dressed nicely and checked to make sure we could pay for their orders. I also splashed us with Holy Water, figuring it couldn’t hurt. The dinner went well, other than my mother. The first few seconds of this video are 100% my crazy as heck mother, the rest is a montage of my life with them in restaurants.

She was pissed because her diet coke wasn’t on the table 2 seconds after we got our food at the buffet. She also yelled at a random waiter, who had no clue who the heck we were. Lets just say I kissed my favorite tea goodbye. Thanks, MOM. (The people know me there and I always leave a nice tip. So, I generally get the really good jasmine tea. Adios, dear tea…)

Eventually, we got around to actually saying something. Mr. Serrano had eaten a grand total of 1 plate, because he was ready to crap his pants he was so freaked out. I wasn’t freaked out until we had to say something- and we had to say it on the fly because Los Classy was moving out.

So…it went like this. “I would like to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage”

............

………….And we’re getting married in MEXICO.

Actually, they couldn't even get that out...

So? Besides the looks of shock, what were their reactions? Well, my internet friends, that is how we come by the new name “Los Classy”.

In bullet point, here were their reactions:

  • You do know our daughter has $tudent debt, right?
  • I appreciate you asking for this…
  • We weren’t expecting this right now…(its early)
  • We will talk about the financial $ituation.
  • Let’s talk about the financial $$$$ituation.
  • Are you pregnant?
  • How are you going to live in Mexico, do you have any money?
  • Money.
  • $$$$$$.
  • Dinero.
  • Great for you…I guess.
  • Happy Father’s day to me, eh?/sarcasm
  • This could just take her off our hands…

Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that classy? Doesn’t that just speak volumes about where my parents stand on marriage? Noticeably absent was any real sense of joy. No congratulations, no welcome to the family, nothing. Oh, Los Classy did look at my ring (which they were surprised we had already picked out) and I could immediately tell my mother was trying to figure out how much it cost. NICE.

Don’t get me wrong- this went 4billion times better than I thought it would be. Mr. Serrano and I ended the night laughing and watching a movie at the theater.

However, I was still incredibly, incredibly, incredibly disappointed and sad. My parents think the only reason people get married is because there’s been an “oops” baby- not because two loving people plan out a life together. Perhaps their talk of money is grounded in caring about what happens to us…but the way in which it was brought up made me feel like a cow, and a dishonest cow at that.

My parents are not proud of me. I could be a Saint, and they would still find me less than the family dog. I’ve known that for a long time, but it still hurts when it gets waved in my face. Its so glaringly obvious that they don’t know me- seriously, anyone stumbling across this blog probably knows me better than my own parents. If they knew me, they’d know how strong my faith and love are, and how I never hide anything from Mr. Serrano.

Things were okay for a few days after the announcement. I thought that I was finally safe to gush. I thought that I could hope, and dream, and make plans. I thought my mother was serious when she said that I could live in the house until marriage in order to save money- for about 1o seconds she acted like a real mom. Probably while I was thinking of saving my chastity by avoiding living together before marriage, she was only thinking of avoiding a pregnancy.

Like the one she had with me. The one where I supposedly came and ruined her so much better before me life.

But just like normal, she started screaming at me the other day. Screeching, like a demon. Accusing me of every disgusting thing she could think of. Emotionally manipulating me, guilting me, making me feel like an ant because I am happy and she isn’t. She’s far too good at sabotaging happiness to let something like that into her, or anyone else’s life. I had to let her know that I would not discuss anything with her until I had Mr. Serrano’s permission, and that if she screamed, yelled, or in any way made either of us feel uncomfortable, the end result would be us leaving the room or the house. We are not going to fight, argue, or act like children- we will just remove ourselves from the situation. She took back a gift she gave me, forcing me to pay for it with the last of the quarters, dimes, and small bills that I had left over from saving for the wedding. Yes, in my house this is “normal”.

I do not want to accept any more “gifts” from her again, even if I need them. Her gifts always come with something attached. I can live without them. I’d prefer to live without them. I want to tell her that I will no longer accept gifts from anyone in the family, but that would provoke her.

As for my father, he’s the usual ball-less wonder. Now that he gets what he wants from his wife, and with the Mormon carrot held out in front of him, he’s even more useless than before. You can bet money that he is going to be on “her side”, and is still not going to realize that by him choosing sides, he is only allowing the family to disintegrate more. He’ll probably try to “talk” on the weekend, in which he’ll once more drone on and on in his lecture about how I can’t “stir things up”, “rock the boat”, or “fight” against my mother. Every excuse will be afforded to her, from her (absolutely) horrific childhood, to her diabetes, to her being fat, to her having mental problems. Every effort will be made to downplay what is ultimately emotional abuse.

The end result of it all is that I’m done. I’m finished. I give up.

Today, I loaded up some books that I no longer read (re: 3 boxes full of them) and carried them out. Mother asked with a bit of astonishment, a slight how dare you, and some hope, if I was moving out.

“Nope.” I said. Not yet…

I might have to get a dispensation after I move in with Mr. Serrano. I don’t want to do it. I think living together before marriage is a sin, if not a close occasion of it. I worry about how well we can keep chaste together when we’ll see each other every morning, and every night for nearly 2 years.

I’m not moving in with my fiance because I think it will make our marriage stronger, or because I believe in a “trial marriage” (WHICH I DON’T), or because I’m in love with my fiance. It isn’t for fun, enjoyment, or because I would love to wake up every morning and go to bed every night under the same roof as the man that I love.

I’m moving in with Mr. Serrano as soon as possible, because my home life here is so crazy that I am not safe. I can’t sleep, eat, use the bathroom, clean clothing, or do anything in this house because I am always scared of being screamed at. Its beyond stressful, and it affects me spiritually.

I can’t pray as well; I swear a lot; I’m deeply angry to the point of rage. I’m depressed; my chest is constantly heavy, I plan my day around who I have to avoid. My quality of work suffers due to stress, I find myself wishing and wishing that I had a real mother. I try to think of the Virgin Mary as my mother. I try not to think of my father. I don’t pay attention to my appearance, I eat very little (and not very well) and I lock myself in my room when I’m not working or on a date. There’s not even much time for dates now, due to work. I constantly check to see who’s home when I return, and I breathe a sigh of relief if for once the mother isn’t around. I shout for joy (literally) when nobody is around, because then I’m free to cook myself dinner, eat, and take a shower without feeling threatened.

When I finally find the energy to go to Adoration, I can’t pray. I try, but all I can do is embarrass myself by crying in front of old Polish church ladies. I don’t know if they see it or not, but I do know that one of the kneelers was left wet. I’m a quiet crier though.

What’s worse- living in a near occasion of sin or allowing myself to be abused? I can leave the room, but I’ll be followed. I’ll be hounded by one or the other of them, and I know the wide range of manipulation that they will use to get me to bend to their will. They blame my guilt and paranoia on the Church. In reality, it was a priest (or many) who sat me down and told me that I was a “beloved daughter of God” and that I need to accept forgiveness, and accept that God doesn’t blame me- only loves me. There’s right, and wrong, but God forgives when you ask. It was a revelation to find out that I am loved no matter what I do, and there are no buts with God.

Whenever I’m in despair now, I try to meditate on the Divine Mercy. I try to love my parents. Can you love without feeling it? Perhaps that is what I’m going to have to learn to do.

However, I need to get out. The good thing is, besides God and the Saints, I’ve got wonderful friends and a fiance who all love me here on Earth. In spite of it all, Mr. Serrano and I actually have a healthy relationship. It takes a lot of work, but its worth it.

As soon as possible, I’m leaving. I just want it on record that I’m not leaving to live with Mr. Serrano like most people of my generation would do it- for frivolous reasons. I’m doing it because I don’t believe there’s another option. Stay here and suffer? Allow my abuse? Part of me says to go for it- become a saint through suffering. The other part of me says that I should do what I can to remain whole- and the family is taking me piece by piece. How can I be a proper wife and mother if I’m emotionally crippled by the time that I marry? How can I plan a wedding when the mention of it will send her into a rage?

Its time to be free. I can’t wait to move in, in some ways. There are three bedrooms in the house, so one will be mine, one will be his, and one can be a combination library/prayer room. I will also be able to put some cookbooks to use (finally!) and will be teaching Mr. Serrano his RCIA book (we had to stop meetings, because of issues with schedules of work).

Things are going to get better.

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My Golden Wedding Band…

Well, actually that has yet to come! However, Mr. Serrano finally formally proposed to me, ring and all, after months of pestering. I will remember his proposal forever…especially as it had 3 stages:

  1. Propose over Skype while I’m in Japan. I think he’s joking (we’d only been going out a few months). He pretty much blocked it from his memory, but when I realized that it was not a joke, and stopped laughing, all I could think was  “Yes”.
  2. While relaxing at one of the Mexican festivals in our area, in the ambiance of music, food, laughter, and the beer tent, he casually looked at me and asked if I would like a party like that for my wedding. My jaw dropped, time stood still, I grinned, and the answer was “Yes” again.
  3. Finally, after months going on years of pestering about a formal proposal, because I’m itching to show that its official, and after planning our announcement to my parents, we go and buy the ring. I pick out 3 rings I like, and he secretly picks the one he likes among them all. Then, at the classiest establishment known to Earth, Texas Roadhouse, he proposed. Formally. The song “On the Road Again” was playing, and peanuts littered the floor.I could not ask for a better formal proposal. I laughed and joked, saying…”Nahhhhh”, and eventually “caved”. The entire 3 steps of Proposal were awesome.

I have to say, Mr. Serrano picked out the ring I liked best (he has good taste, and what’s more he saw my eyes go round when I saw it). It also didn’t cost too much. Its simple, elegant, and made of silver and diamonds (I’m a silver kind of gal). What I like most about it is the symbolism I can read into it.

The ring twists in a figure eight, the number of infinity, eternity, and the Virgin Mary. Its also my personal good luck number. 3 diamonds symbolize the Holy Trinity- Father, Son, Holy Spirit- all encircled in one loop. 3 more tiny diamonds on one side and 3 tiny diamonds on the other join the Trinity stones to make the number 7- completeness and holiness. And then you have all the other awesome symbols of the ring that are more traditional!

We’ve been planning on how to tell my parents for months, and we’ve finally decided on next weekend. I honestly don’t know how it is going to go. My family seem to like him, and don’t seem too racist, but one of my worries is that they’ll accept him- because now he’s getting rid of the useless daughter for them. I’d hate for that to be the reason, but I guess its better than trying to actively destroy our relationship.

Time will tell. Hopefully all goes well. And, true to my Catholic revert self, I’ve got to go see about getting this doohicky blessed! Not only that, but now I get to search for a wedding band for Mr. Serrano…that is going to be fun. He, apparently, is a gold man, so we aren’t going to match. OH NO! So far our marriage is breaking every one of society’s stupid rules, which puts me in a great mood. ^_^

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100th Post!!!

I can not devote the time I would like to this post, because this week is going to be very crazy. I am graduating soon, so I am running around trying to get 3 million things done at once. I am also beginning RCIA classes with Mr. Serrano. While I’m Confirmed, he is not. My homework is to teach him some prayers- in Spanish! Both of us are going to learn a lot, and I like our priest.  However, the next post WILL be Catholic Culture of the Month- and here is a preview.

I have a huge devotion to Our Lady of Guadelupe. For years, this has remained my favorite apparition of Mary. Her message, that Christianity is for all- not just the conqueror but every single person- is extremely comforting. She will always be tied to Mexican culture for that.

Now, I want to make a statement here. A lot of people claim to see the Virgin Mary in toast and what-not. Those aren’t apparitions. I guess if God wanted the Virgin Mary to appear on toast, He would allow that, but I’m guessing that toast is one of those things he wouldn’t use, for obvious reasons.

However, the Tilma of the Virgin Mary, that was brought to the Bishop by Saint Juan Diego, a native son of Mexico, is truly miraculous.

Unlike the claims of super secret sacred undies saving you from hell-fire, home fires, or some other concocted situation, the Tilma has been examined by scientists from all around the world. Not a single one of them, no matter how skeptical they were, were able to determine how the image on the Tilma came to be. Unlike in Mormon circles, where being a Doubting Thomas immediately excludes you from certain archeological studies, with Catholic circles a Doubting Thomas is welcomed (so long as Doubting Thomas doesn’t turn into a dishonest Judas by tampering with things aka burning, defiling, or anything else you see idiots on YouTube attempting to do…)  and invited in.

The idea with Catholics is that if it is truly a miracle, any scientist or skeptic will not be able to debunk the miracle. If they can debunk the miracle, then it was not of supernatural origin and will be left alone. If they cannot debunk the miracle, while people are in no way forced to believe in the apparition/miracle it will be allowed to be venerated and treated with respect.

That is what has happened with the image (not painting) of the Virgin Mary on the Tilma of Saint Juan Diego. The few possible explanations of how that image got onto that cloth all state that the technology we have even today would not allow for it to be possible. There are no brush strokes! Even more, the fact that this humble tilma, a cloak made out of rough cactus fiber, managed to make it past 20 years without disintegrating is in itself a miracle. Add to that the mishaps of the centuries to come, and their lack of effect on the image, and you are already in a strong case for a miracle.

Sure, a stubborn skeptic could say that perhaps the image is like that hamster of the family that suspiciously lived 6 times its normal lifespan, except that scientists and skeptics have been periodically allowed access to go ahead and prove or disprove whatever theories they have. If there had been a switch at some point, it would have been reported by someone.

So, as part of my continuing Catholic Culture of the Month, I will do a post on Mexico with a special focus on the Virgin of Guadelupe.

Let’s just say that the next time someone goes and tries to say that the Virgin Mary is “a redone Aztec goddess” you’ll be able to not only give them a lecture on Mexican culture, you’ll be able to interpret the entire image yourself.

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My name is Katoriku Rant. You ticked me off. Prepare to hear some rant.

Kudos to you if you read that hearing Inigo Montoya’s voice.

I rant a lot. Its what keeps me from picking up some random weapon, sword and pistol by my side, traveling to some foreign, hostile country, and planning a one-woman murder rampage on the nearest sheep-raping woman-beating beard groomer in the area. Without rant, many people could easily become this guy.

I love how they describe him as “a devout Christian with a prison record”, by the way. Unless the Jerusalem Post is actually trying to describe a Saul to Paul slant (unlikely because I’m sure the Jews probably don’t like the moral of that story), and is not trying to link Christians with Crazy (capital C intended), I’m guessing the psycho probably doesn’t qualify as Christian. You know, because breaking the law is considered a sin, especially when it lands you in jail.

But I’m going off on a tangent again, aren’t I?

So what’s my rant today?

Catholics.

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Oh hey, another blog I like!

Before I put this on my blogroll, I want to write a little about it. Free Range Kids is an awesome site. I’m a big fan because I’ve seen my own family go from very laissez-faire about kid raising to believing that every man with a functioning penis is ready to rape a child.

Seriously.

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